The air was heavy and tense, filled with an indescribable pressure.
Kristen, Jas, Alfred, and others—stuntn, body doubles—sat in the hospital hallway without exception. No one spoke, and the silence grew suffocating in the oppressive atmosphere.
Movent ca from the direction of the ward. Jas was the first to stand up quickly.
"Anson..." He wanted to ask sothing, but the words got stuck in his throat. Not knowing how to express his concern, he swallowed them silently, staring at Lucas, waiting for an answer.
He wasn't the only one.
Lucas scanned the room. "Anson is awake. His condition is better than expected. He's stable for now."
Thud.
Alfred's knees buckled, and he collapsed back into his seat, covering his face with both hands, rubbing it hard as he finally took a breath.
Kristen turned to face the wall, trying to hide her surge of emotions, but her trembling shoulders gave away her vulnerability at that mont.
Jas stepped forward. "When can we visit him?"
"Not now," Lucas cut him off coldly, like a grim reaper.
Ignoring Jas' frustration and annoyance, Lucas walked directly toward Sam, who sat nearby. On the surface, Sam seed composed, but the worry etched on his face was slowly eating away at his sanity. Lucas had to pull Sam back from his daze.
"Sam, Anson wants to talk to you."
Sam looked up, a little confused.
"But the doctor said Anson still needs rest. He needs ti for his body to recover, so you can only have five minutes."
Finally, Sam snapped out of it and nodded lightly to show he understood.
Jas couldn't believe it. "Hey, I'm Anson's best friend! Why does the director get to see him but not ? What kind of standard is that?"
"Anson's brother's standard," Lucas replied, every word like ice.
Jas froze, unable to argue.
Lucas paid no attention to Jas and kept walking forward.
After a few steps, he paused slightly. He noticed—
Sean Graham, the wire technician.
His hands were wrapped in bandages, and despite that, the swelling in his palms was still visible. His hands looked out of proportion with his forearms—his injuries were serious, and he wouldn't be able to work for a while.
Lucas only paused for a mont before continuing forward without stopping.
Sean hung his head, trapped in deep guilt. No matter what anyone said, he was the one who had let go of the wire. He felt responsible for the situation.
But the question was, how could he be responsible? What could he do?
The agony churned in his stomach.
He wanted to vomit but couldn't.
Sean noticed Lucas' footsteps in front of him but didn't dare to look up, watching helplessly as Lucas paused, then walked away.
Sean slowly closed his eyes, enduring his tornt in silence.
...
"What happened?"
That was the question on everyone's lips, whispered throughout the crowd.
But there were no answers.
After receiving the news, reporters had rushed to Mount Sinai Hospital, only to be blocked outside. The only thing they knew for certain was—
Sothing had gone wrong. Anson had been taken into an ambulance, and his condition was unknown.
That was all.
The information was incomplete, the situation unclear, and the production team had locked everything down, leaving room for endless speculation. Terrifying rumors swirled, but no one could confirm anything.
The atmosphere was thick with anxiety.
Among the crowd was Harry Percy, silently hiding himself.
Nervous. Anxious. Excited. Thrilled. Panicked.
It was unimaginable how so many conflicting emotions could intertwine at once, the rush of adrenaline making it feel like a party.
When the accident happened, Harry's first instinct was to flee.
It was the only reaction he had.
He couldn't believe it had actually happened, in such an absurd way. Fear and worry exploded in his mind, filling it with dreadful thoughts he couldn't shake.
He kept telling himself, Anson is fine. Anson is fine. Anson is fine.
But then the bad news ca—
The ambulance was dispatched.
One piece of news after another overwheld him, dragging Harry deeper into darkness.
Then, a realization hit him:
This was the first ti—and perhaps the only ti—he had the upper hand over Anson.
Standing in front of Anson always made him feel like a mouse facing a cat. He had tried to run, tried to resist, but Anson always toyed with him, leaving him humiliated, to the point where it scarred his psyche.
But now?
Anson was possibly lying helpless in a hospital bed, unable to fight back.
Harry knew the thought was evil, but the demon in him pulled him further into the darkness. The idea began to fester in his mind, and he couldn't stop it.
Maybe Anson was injured, but not as badly as everyone thought. Perhaps this dia blackout was just a show, a publicity stunt to garner attention.
It was ridiculous, but it was also very real—
In Hollywood, anything was possible. Life, death, sickness—it could all be turned into a spectacle. The "entertainnt to death" mindset had long been ingrained in the culture.
If it were Anson, Harry thought, the chances of this being a ploy were even higher.
After all, this was the sa man who orchestrated a "flash mob surprise" and revamped the image of the Cannes Film Festival. What couldn't he pull off?
With that thought, Harry's excitent and exhilaration spiraled out of control.
He needed to get to the hospital—like a serial killer returning to the scene of the cri. Fear and excitent blended together, mixed with the thrill of possibly being caught and the satisfaction of witnessing the chaos he'd caused, watching it all unfold like a god surveying his creation.
It was all like TMZ—
Exposing people's wounds, revealing their secrets, exploiting their pain, using the cara lens as a weapon to announce the beginning of "entertainnt to death." They had beco an inseparable part of the dark corners of the celebrity world.
So might call it twisted, evil, grotesque, and revolting.
But Harry knew that even those critics couldn't control their own desires. They'd still be drawn to gossip, still be excited by scandals, still crave drama. After all, demand and curiosity are what fuel endless darkness and sin.
Harry believed that once the story broke, people would go wild. They'd curse while watching, condemn while consuming, but no one would look away.
No one.
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